


Riddled

by phagocytosis (SlytherinsDragon)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gray!Harry, M/M, powerful!Harry, tags will be added as story progresses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-26
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2020-09-26 21:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 15,533
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20396158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SlytherinsDragon/pseuds/phagocytosis
Summary: Imagine that almost everything 'good' and 'decent' about Voldemort/Tom Riddle is contained in the Horcrux that exists in Harry. When Harry is suffering, he makes the acquaintance of Tom, the other being that resides within his body. Between Tom and himself, the Wizarding World may never be the same.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [magic1034](https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic1034/gifts).

> Birthday/Christmas present that I am starting early.  
Please let me know what you think in the comments below! This is the first time I am writing a fic strictly about these two, so feedback would be lovely.  
This will also be posted on Fanfiction.net under Slytherin's Dragon.  
Hope you guys enjoy!

Tears streak down Harry’s cheeks as he cries. Typically, he is of the stoic sort, but there are days where everything is just too much, and he needs this release. The world is an unfair place; a fact very evident to the eight-year old boy. Unfairness existed, even in his earliest of memories – where Dudley had gotten an ice cream from a nearby shop, and Harry had gotten nothing. And it is during this cry when Harry first hears the voice; it is full of concern and kindliness, the sort of voice one would associate with a boy in his late teenage years.

_“What is this, little one?”_

It shocks him. Harry practically leaps upward, looking to and fro in his dingy little cupboard, eyeing putrid linens, a chamber pot, old hand-me-downs curtesy of Dudley and the meager possessions he could call his own.

But there is no one present.

_“Easy there! Harry – that’s what you are called right? I am here – in your head. And, no – my dear boy – you are not insane. Or a freak.”_

“Who are you?” Harry whispers, his voice rough with disuse – he hasn’t been granted the privilege of being outside for this entire weekend.

_“I am Tom. I have resided in your mind for as long as I can remember. I must apologize for not meeting you sooner – but I was quite weak.” _

“What do you mean, that I am not a freak?” Harry asks, eagerly – he has been labeled a freak for as long as he could remember. “I can do things – I don’t know how… but things happen. Like the one-time Dudley and his friends were chasing me, and I ended up on a roof.”

_“You and I – we are very much alike. In one such way – we are both wizards.”_

“No way.” Harry gasps. “You are having me on!”

_“Magic very much exists in this world, Harry. Your sorry excuses for relatives know this. And, they have been trying all your life to squash it out of you. But they cannot, for it is intrinsic. Harry… my strength is waning. I want you to do this for me – try thinking about moving things – small things. Maybe your eraser. I will be back soon. Good-bye, Harry…”_

“Wait – no – come back!” Harry exclaims just as an aggressive knock rattles his cupboard door.

“Keep it quiet in there, freak!” The nasty voice of his Uncle enters through his closet door before his heavy footsteps fade away.

Harry sighs, and then with a quick wipe to his wet eyes with the back of his hand, he tackles his sums. Maths has always been a comforting subject to Harry; there is certainty in knowing that two plus two equaled four – for instance.

**^H^**

Over the next few days, Harry mulls over his conversation with Tom. Was his visit a one-time thing? Or, is he really and actually a freak? Tom said he lived in his mind – and he certainly knew a lot of things – like that magic is real, and that his relatives know all about it. He wants so badly to believe it, but Harry knows that life is full of disappointments. At best, he can only hope that this isn’t one of them. And then – he remembers Tom’s request. It certainly didn’t hurt to try – right? And, it isn’t like Harry had better things to do beside moping around in his cupboard.

An eraser – he said. Harry thinks – but what about a coin?

He flips the penny in the air, catches it and slaps it on his palm – heads. He lays it down on the makeshift table he uses to do his homework, and he thinks. He thinks hard – willing the penny to go in different directions – forward, backwards, left, right and upwards. As, predicted – the coin simply lays there, inert.

_“Patience.”_

A familiar voice – albeit weak – whispers, before vanishing again into the ether.

**^H^**

He is running again – as quick as his scrawny legs could carry him. From behind, he can hear the war cries of Dudley, Piers and some of his friends chasing him down. Before he could collapse in exhaustion – Dudley and his gang may be slow, but they are determined – Harry wills himself anywhere but here. There is a loud _crack_, and he is suddenly – somewhere else. Another rooftop.

Great.

How is he going to get down now? Harry walks gingerly over the old worn tiles of the roof. Remembering Tom’s advice – he finds himself willing to get on the ground – but nothing happens. It seems that he has to be desperate in order to trigger this _magic_. He does recognize the place when he finally looks down from the edge of the roof – the local library. Sighing, he lies down on the tiles, willing for the adrenaline running in his blood to die down. Maybe if he got hungry enough, his magic would activate again. Hopefully.

He tries again a few minutes later – trying a turn while willing himself back into his closet in Privet Drive. He pictures his little room in his mind, furnishing the image with details. Minutes of desperate imaginings later, he hears a _crack_ and he is in his cupboard – once more.

**^H^**

_“You figured out how to Apparate.”_ Tom’s voice almost sounds accusatory.

“Come again?” Harry asks, confused.

_“What the non-magical folk like to call – teleportation.”_ Tom explains patiently.

“Ah.” Harry understands. “It was a fluke.”

_“Nonsense. But magic – it is very real – is it not?”_

Harry laughs quietly, “Apparently so.”

_“Then you can carry out my little assignment. Apparition without managing to splinch yourself is very impressive, little Harry.”_ There is a proud and surprisingly fond tone in Tom’s voice, and Harry warms to it.

Tom disappears again, and Harry falls asleep with a small smile.

**^H^**

Harry tries again on his task. The penny almost seems to mock him, in the way it stays stubbornly still. Just as he is about to give up, it moves. A scant centimetre forward. He almost collapses to the ground – just that little bit seemed to have taken an enormous toll on his strength.

_“Well done.”_

The familiar voice of Tom causes Harry to smile.

_“Now, you must practice. Magic is like a muscle. And the more you have control over it – the more things you can do. But for now – rest.”_

“You must tell me more about magic, sometime.” Harry says.

_“In due time. In due time… my dear Harry. Sleep.”_


	2. Chapter 2

Intrigued by his newfound ability, Harry starts practicing obsessively in his cupboard. For once, he is happy to be isolated from the rest of the world. With the coin, he first masters its manipulation in the second dimension, moving it freely across the surface of his table.

Initially, he needs a break between every attempt, but within a few days – it is no longer necessary. He gets ambitious then, willing the coin to levitate. The coin hovers a few centimetres off the ground, trembling violently in the air before Harry collapses, panting, accompanied by a _clunk_ as the penny hits the table.

_“Gravity, my dear Harry.”_ There is amusement in Tom’s voice.

“I knew that.” Harry mutters darkly – lying on the ground in his exhaustion.

Tom laughs. He then says seriously. _“Perhaps you should learn how to Apparate to the library. Some knowledge in physics would not be amiss.”_

“But that’s non-magical stuff!” Harry exclaims.

_“Harry, Harry, Harry – you have to understand how this world works – if you want it to be your playground.”_ Tom says amusedly.

“Fine.” Harry snuggles into his blankets, conceding that Tom does indeed have a point.

**^H^**

So, Harry learns how to _apparate _to the library. His Aunt and Uncle do not usually check up on him, except to chuck some food during dinnertime into his humble cupboard. During these intervals when his relatives assume that he is safely locked up, Harry goes to the library. The physics texts prove difficult – but with some help from Tom, a dictionary and some supplementary math – Harry is able to grasp the basics.

Besides the physics, Harry reads voraciously and in an indiscriminate fashion. The subject didn’t matter – cooking recipes, ancient civilizations, medicine and art were examples of topics he devoured. He never borrows any of the books – figuring that his Uncle would burn them if he ever discovered them. The library is a paradise – Harry loves to learn. But this is a passion that he has had to downplay his entire life. He still remembers the first beating with the belt he received for daring to get higher grades than Dudley. As a result, Harry has become quite adept at playing dumb.

The late October weather is surprisingly pleasant. So, Harry decides to walk back to the neighbourhood, with all its cookie-cutter houses and pristine lawns. Spotting a 50 pence coin on the pavement, he picks it up. And, he has a thought. _How many coins are there on the streets of Little Whinging?_ _Many, perhaps._ Harry ducks into an alleyway and thinks about coins. _Is there a way to bring all that loose change into his palms?_

While he thinks, he winces when small metal objects smack into his palm. A decent amount of these objects falls to the ground from his hand.

_Coins!_

Harry has to will the process to stop, before he could faint of exhaustion. He leans on the dirty graffiti covered bricks and pants, trying to catch his breath. _Hell. _There is a small fortune of coins piled up at his feet – he even sees one and two-pound coins. He kneels down and starts sorting the coins – taking the coins of the higher denominations, as there isn’t enough room in his pockets to carry all that change around.

To celebrate his gains, Harry _apparates _to the local ice cream shop and buys the most decadent sundae they have on offer.

Never has anything tasted so sweet.

**^H^**

_“You have made great strides in your learning.”_ Tom remarks to him that night.

“I have a great teacher.” Harry shrugs, as he uses a pouch to store the rest of his money.

_“You even learned how to summon things, Harry. That is a fantastic accomplishment. You will find that your creativity is the true limit to what you can accomplish.”_

There is a lull in the conversation, as Harry moves a secret loose floorboard to hide his treasure. He then observes, “You are getting stronger, Tom.”

_“Perhaps.” _Tom seems to sigh. _“My strength waxes and wanes. But, anyways – your relatives are going away this weekend – what shall we do?”_

“I could cook something delicious.” Harry says, and then quickly rescinds apologetically, “I am sorry – you don’t actually eat – do you?”

_“I taste when you taste – Harry. It’s hard to describe. I rely on your body to provide all the sensory information. However, the perception of the input is my own. But, certainly – I will enjoy your cooking.”_

“If you smell what I smell, see what I see, hear what I hear – then you’ve felt all the times my Uncle beat me.” Harry then collapses to his knees, bowing his head. “I am sorry –“

_“Merlin, Harry – you don’t have to apologize for that! It’s not your fault your Uncle has a stick up his arse.”_ Tom says firmly.

“Some of it was avoidable.” Harry shakes his head.

_“If anything – Harry – I only wished that I was strong enough to stop him.” _There is a fierceness in Tom’s voice that sends shivers down Harry’s spine.

**^H^**

“So… do you remember anything of your life before you were stuck with me?” Harry asks, as he uses his fork and knife to tackle his rib-eye steak.

_“Nothing definitive.”_

There is a pause, as Harry continues to eat, savouring the creamy mashed potatoes and even enjoying the crisp vegetables. He had never been allowed to eat anything this good in his life. The meat is so tender and so juicy; Tom had helped him pick the best cut at the butcher’s.

_“I mean I know facts – in a semantic sense. But, in terms of my old life – I only know that my name is Tom. I can infer that I was a powerful and knowledgeable wizard based on what I know. But, no more.”_

“Is it boring – to be stuck with me?”

_“It could always be worse – dear Harry.” _Harry can almost hear the teasing grin in Tom’s voice.

Harry clears his plate and focuses on the dessert – a delicious slice of apple pie that he had bought at a fancy bakery. He still cannot get over that this is his life now.

If only, it could be like this – always…

“Do you think I can ever get away from here?” Harry dares to ask.

_“You can always leave, you do know that – Harry. Nothing ties you to this place, except blood.”_

“But where would I go?”


	3. Chapter 3

“What is magic?” Harry ponders in his cupboard. “Is it a type of energy?”

_“Harry… every manipulation in this world requires energy.”_

Harry takes a couple of coins in hand. Slowly, they rise from his palm, overcoming gravity. He manipulates them in the air, forcing them into different complex formations. He observes, “Kinetic energy is required to keep objects in motion.” The coins clatter onto the table when Harry closes his fist. This motion is not needed, but Harry likes having dramatic little flourishes to start and end his magical exertions. Like non-magical magic; with the crucial difference that Harry’s magic is real.

“So, I can move things with my magic. Kinetic energy. But, is there more I can do?”

Tom chuckles, a gentle dark rumble. _“Dear Harry… as I have said before, the entire world is your oyster – limited only by your imagination.”_

“How about something specific?” Harry asks. “The world is too broad.”

_“Fire.”_ Tom suggests. _“Take out one of those candles you bought for Christmas.”_

Harry crawls over to his secret loose floorboards and grabs a squat white candle in a glass holder. He places it on the table next to the coins. Tom remains silent, so Harry infers that he is to figure this out on his own. _How does fire work?_ Harry thinks. _A fire requires fuel, heat and an oxidizing agent. _Oxygen is plentiful, the fuel is the candle – so he would need to provide heat. Heat can be generated by friction – Harry remembers reading about how people in the old days made fires – with sticks. But wait, if all he needed is heat – then all he has to do is increase the motion of the air particles surrounding the wick...

_Whoosh!_ The air around the wick sparks exuberantly before an orangey warm flame catches.

_“Careful Harry, you do not need to upset that many particles. But – alas – very well done, indeed.”_

“Oh…” Harry is stunned at the fire flickering merrily. “I could… Bloody hell… set anything I want on fire.”"

_”Ah, indeed. Our budding pyromaniac.”_

Harry snorts, and Tom actually laughs.

“Anything else I should figure out, Tom?” Harry asks after all their laughter had dissipated.

_“You might want to figure out how to change your appearance. Especially, if you wish to leave here at some point.”_

“The Dursleys won’t care…” Harry sighs deeply.

_“Ah, but other people in the world might…”_

“What do you mean?” Harry says suspiciously, “I am just an ordinary boy.”

_“Harry… you are a very gifted boy. One with a lot of power in your hands. There is a little bit more I know about your heritage, but I don’t think it is wise for you to know yet. But I will tell you when you are ready.”_ Tom says mysteriously.

“You have been holding out on me…” Harry says accusingly.

_“Trust me. You withhold your thoughts from me too. Although we cohabit the same physical body – our minds are independent from each other.” _Tom then adds fondly, _“You and I – we will go far together.”_

On a whim, Harry thinks about concentrating the oxygen in the air near the burning wick, and the fire leaps up in an awesome whitish flare. He closes his dominant fist again, and the flames immediately extinguishes – as Harry wills all the oxygen out of the space, smothering the fire.

Tom laughs some more. _“Oh, Harry – you are a natural!”_

**^H^**

“Hit me again with that belt, I bloody dare you.” Harry hisses defiantly at his Uncle, whose face is turning an unhealthy shade of puce.

“You insolent, ungrateful brat!” Uncle Vernon is clenching and unclenching his fists. “After all these years of clothing and feeding you – you worthless freak! I will give you a beating that –“

Suddenly, Uncle Vernon yelps in terror when the tip of his leather belt bursts into fire. Or rather – the leather seems to be fake. An illusion, just like how the Dursleys like to pretend that they are a normal middle-class family living in a suburban utopia. Harry knows that true leather takes a ridiculous ignition temperature to catch on fire like that – but clearly – this is not real leather. His Uncle immediately drops the belt – <strike>as if it was on fire</strike> – or rather – it is on fire – and the carpet rapidly catches as well. There is a stunned stupid look on his countenance, before he yells frantically.

“What have you done, boy? Put it out! Put it fucking out!”

Harry simply crosses his arms, letting the fire spread hungrily two seconds more, before willing the flames away. His knees shake, threatening to give way for the enormous amount of energy needed to kill the spreading fire, but to maintain his position of strength, Harry doggedly holds on. He had found out that it wasn’t necessary to put out fire by taking away all the oxygen, especially if his own magic had been used to start the fire in the first place.

“You freak.” Uncle Vernon is breathing hard, “I ought to call the –“

Harry actually laughs. “Who is going to believe you, Uncle? That an eight-year old boy set your living room on fire spontaneously without a lighter? I know you can’t throw me out. Just leave me alone, and I will leave you and your family alone.”

Uncle Vernon looks as if he is on the verge of stroking out. To kindly help his Uncle make a faster decision, Harry uses his magic as both the fuel source and heat; a small warm orange flame hovers above his palm. He doesn’t have the energy for something bigger and flashier. His Uncle’s eyes bulge at the fire fearfully, and he nods. “Fine. Very well. We will leave you alone. You can come and go as you please.” It is amazing how pitiful his Uncle looks, and the relief that falls upon his person is something Harry will always remember when he finally extinguishes the fire.

**^H^**

“Thank you for that. How did you know that my Aunt and Uncle can’t just throw me out?” Harry asks when he finally returns to the cupboard after stopping by the kitchen – with a glass of water, a fork and a generous slice of Dudley’s favourite chocolate cake in hand.

_“I overheard your Aunt and Uncle rowing about it when you were a toddler.”_ Tom explains. _“I don’t know why they cannot send you out into the streets – your rather nasty Uncle would have thrown you out at the first opportunity.”_

“I guess I don’t have to leave anymore, if this is how things are going to be.” Harry tucks in happily into his cake.

_“This is some fine cake, indeed. No wonder Dudley is such a fat pig.”_

Harry laughs loudly – the first time he could do so at Privet Drive without risking his relatives’ wrath.

“It comes from some posh bakery. Not sure where.” Harry looks forward to trying all of Dudley’s delicacies – in a disciplined manner.

_“Ah, but you should figure out the art of disguise. Do you not want to take a trip into the magical world?”_ Tom says, his words as enticing as the cake Harry is feasting upon. _“I recommend actually altering your appearance as opposed to using a glamour…”_

“Come again?” Harry has no idea what a glamour is. But, he does want to go see the Wizarding World that Tom had been feeding him bits and pieces of in the past months.

_“An illusion that covers over your appearance. There are several powerful witches and wizards who are capable of seeing through those. However, they would not be able to see through magical alterations to your actual person.”_ Tom explains patiently.

“I should go get a mirror from upstairs.” Harry says thoughtfully. He then asks a question that had been bothering him all day, “How could I talk to that snake at the zoo though?”

_“Harry… you are a parselmouth. Just like me… It is the ability to speak to animals – although for most – it is limited to just snakes. But in the old days, you hear stories of the Animal Whisperers… wizards and witches who could communicate with all sorts of creatures – and even flora! The magic through the generations has eroded quite a bit.”_

“Hopefully _Zaas_ makes it to Brazil.” Harry says with some amusement; he will always remember the snake that had served as the trigger for such a momentous change in his life. It was his shenanigans at the zoo that had precipitated Uncle Vernon’s nasty temper. He proceeds to amuse himself with imagining all the different ways a boa constrictor could sneak his way overseas.


	4. Chapter 4

Over the next few days, Harry really does notice the shifting of the status quo at Privet Drive. For most of the time, Harry’s existence is ignored by the Dursleys – he grabs food and water from the kitchen, he can use the loo anytime he wants (no more damned chamber pot), he does his own laundry (and no one else’s!) and there is no one nagging him about chores. He can keep his cupboard door wide open, and no one would say a word. Aunt Petunia would actually knock on his door and ask meekly if he wanted dinner. Harry would usually grab a plate, fill it with whatever he wishes from the dining table and go eat in his cupboard. For his and Tom’s amusement, he did sit with the Dursleys once for a meal of fish and chips with mushy peas, and the awkward silence in the kitchen was astonishing.

Uncle Vernon hired workers to come repair the fire damage; they had cut out the burned sections of carpet, replaced the charred wood underneath and repainted the damaged wall. His Uncle stays well away from him. Harry does the same and it is a mutually satisfactory arrangement.

_“With people like your uncle – they cower under real power. They torment people that they view as beneath them in order to establish their own place in the world. Pathetic.” _Tom says with disgust.

“I wouldn’t do that. Rule like tyrant.” Harry says thoughtfully, while examining himself in the framed rectangular mirror that he had brought down from one of the bedrooms upstairs.

_“You are too kind, Harry. And idealistic.”_ There is fondness, surprise and some other sort of emotion intermingling in Tom’s voice that Harry cannot discern.

“I would like to hide my scar…” Harry states minutes later, recalling all the nasty nicknames of Scarhead and etcetera that he had to endure over the years at school. “Skin might be too ambitious for now, so I was thinking hair – maybe?”

_“Would be wise. Your scar is a defining feature of yours, Harry.”_

“And definitely, some new clothes.” Harry looks down distastefully at the oversized scratchy and vomit-coloured jumper.

_“Another wise idea. I wouldn’t be caught dead wearing that!”_

“Prat!” Harry huffs, and Tom laughs; a comforting dark rumble.

**^H^**

Harry thinks about how hair grows. He stands in front of the bathroom mirror, running his fingers through his messy but short locks of hair. There are tiny pockets in the skin known as hair follicles. At the bottom of such a pocket, is the root – which is what actually does the growing. There are cells and structural materials in the form of proteins like keratin there, so if he could just apply some magic – maybe he could accelerate the processes of cellular division and the production of these structural elements. As he ponders, the strands of hair on his head slowly grow longer and Harry finally notices the change when he starts feeling drained and fatigued. He wills for the magic to stop, and he estimates that he had gained a good inch of hair. Taking a brush, he parts his dark hair to one side, getting the shaggy locks out of his eyes. He would have to do this gradually, mainly because he still has to go to school. But he knows his classmates wouldn’t observe him too closely – to them, he is already an outcast.

**^H^**

_Damn_.

Harry mentally curses when his pencil breaks as he is writing down some notes on the physics of invisibility in the almost empty library. He sighs deeply; this is the only pencil that he has on him, and he is loath to borrow one from the stern-faced librarian with the salt and pepper hair sitting at the check-out desk. On a whim, Harry thinks about using a blade to peel the wood to sharpen the writing implement, and suddenly peels of wood fall from his pencil tip. They rain onto his notes, revealing a perfectly sharpened pencil.

“Damn.” Harry mutters to himself, examining the pencil before putting it down. He gathers the wood scraps into his palm.

_“Remember the fire…”_ The voice of Tom startles him for a second, causing him to drop the shavings back onto the table. This is the first time that Tom had spoken in such a public setting.

“You startled me.” Harry whispers under his breath, but Tom does not answer.

But he knows. He had vanished the flames – so he can definitely manage with these measly bits of wood. It takes him a while; he first thinks about where objects go when they vanish into non-being. Another dimension? An alternative reality? Maybe the flames he had vanished days ago had gone to hell. He quietly snickers at that thought. There must be a plane of existence where everything every magical being had ever vanished on this Earth had gone to. Harry considers the adage from the brain of Albert Einstein: the total amount of mass and energy in the universe must be constant. Does magic obey the laws of physics?

He shakes his head; it is now time to focus on the task at hand.

With care, he waves his hand, palm down, over the shavings and wills them into non-being. And then he curses, for he had vanished his notes and his pencil as well.

Sighing, he decides to call it a day.

_“Precision is everything – Harry. As is concentration.”_

**^H^**

“How do I look?” Harry stuffs his hands into the pockets of the recently bought pair of dark jeans; for once admiring his reflection in the mirror.

_“Like a whole new being. Clothes bought to fit you, Harry, really make a difference.” _

And it is true. Harry is wearing a crisp maroon shirt on top. His magically straightened hair reaches down to his shoulders. Even his irises are different. His bright green eyes had stood out too much in Harry’s opinion, so he had gradually been altering the pigment of his eyes to a darker shade. Somehow, this simple change seemed to give a mysterious vibe to his look. Harry had wanted to change it further – but Tom had thought that the current colour was fine the way it is. Over this ensemble, Harry throws on a charcoal garment that Tom had noted its resemblance to short cloaks wizards and witches would wear on a day-to-day basis. He finally slings a nice leather messenger bag over his shoulder.

“Shall we go?”

_“As you wish.”_ Harry can almost hear Tom shrug his shoulders by the tone of his voice.

Harry strides out of his cupboard. He can hear Dudley and Piers playing Super Mario Bros on the NES in the living room and Aunt Petunia making lunch in the kitchen. No one notices as Harry puts on his new shoes – soft brown leather – and walks out the front door.

**^H^**

_“Find a stick.”_ Tom instructs once they are out in the fastidiously neat front yard of Privet Drive. _“The vast majority of wizards and witches can only perform controlled magic with wands. It is always a good idea to blend in if you wish to use magic out in the open.”_

Harry walks around the neighbourhood decorated in the trappings of late Autumn, looking for a branch that would make a convincing fake wand. He eventually finds one at the nearby park. Physically, he breaks off the attached twigs and he uses his magic to sand it smooth. He even carves a handle for a comfortable grip.

_“Nice work, Harry. It looks exactly like a wand. Keep it in your cloak pocket for now.”_

“What shall we do next?” Harry asks while examining the cloudy skies above. Part of his brain wonders if it might rain later. Or, maybe – even snow.

_“Now, we apparate to London, my dear Harry. It is time for you to experience your heritage. But, before we do so – what should be your assumed name?”_

“Why do I need a fake name?” Harry asks, as he sits down on a wooden park bench, his eyes roaming over the grass strewn with rotting crunchy leaves. His name certainly sounds common enough.

_“Harry… You are the last of a powerful lineage of wizards and witches. The Potters.”_

“How… do you know this?” Harry is in shock.

_“It is a long story.” _Tom offers, _“But I was able to put the pieces together after observing everything that has happened when you were barely a toddler. I could spend all day and night telling you the story, or we can go exploring.”_

“Fine. Let’s go to London then. But you will tell me?”

_“I swear it. One day we will go the Wizarding bank – Gringotts – and claim your birthright. But it would be premature now. We need to figure out what the current state of affairs are in the Wizarding world and make our plans accordingly. And, if you can’t think of a name, you can use Evander Peverell.”_

“There must be historical significance in that name.” Harry says shrewdly, knowing that Tom has an affinity for history. He had been reading about ancient and medieval civilizations in the library mainly because Tom enjoyed learning about old cultures and traditions. And their mistakes. They are currently reading up on the Roman Empire now.

_“Perhaps. Names have power – Harry. When you learn about the art of Runes – you will understand.”_

“How about we focus on a more pressing problem?” Harry changes the topic. “How am I going to apparate to London if I have never done so before? I don’t exactly want to splinch myself…”

_“I am going to try something, Harry. Empty your mind of thought.”_

Harry tries to keep his mind blank, and all of sudden he feels the intrusive sensation of a foreign thought enter his mind. It is only a split-second long, but he can see clearly the details of the dingy London alleyway that he is to _apparate _to.

_“That was exhausting…” _Tom seems to sigh. Harry can deduce that Tom is disappointed in his current energy reserves. _“But, let’s go.”_

Getting up from the bench, Harry brushes the dirt off his cloak before heading for a dense thicket of trees. His eyes dart around, checking to see if there are any eyes around, before _apparating _with a soft _crack_. 


	5. Chapter 5

_“Breathe… Harry…”_

Harry obediently takes a breath. The energy thrumming around him is almost unbearable to his naïve senses. Murmurs of voices, raucous laughter and the clinking of glasses meet his eardrums. His legs move automatically of their own accord, taking one step after another through the busy pub. He feels like he is drowning. Tom’s gentle voice keeps telling him to breathe.

_“It was like this for me when I first stepped foot in here. It is like this for us – to be sensitive to the magicks around us. But as I did, you will adapt.”_

Entering the courtyard, Tom directs him towards a brick wall. It looks like any other wall of bricks that Harry has seen. He waits for Tom to issue further instructions, but he remains silent – as if waiting for Harry to figure the problem out for himself, again. The magic here isn’t as dense as the magic back at the _Leaky Cauldron_, but there is some force compelling him towards a certain brick on the wall. This brick is almost identical to every other brick used to assemble this wall, but there’s something about it. On a closer physical examination, Harry notices that the centre of the brick is worn down slightly. Instinctively, Harry pulls out his faux-wand and taps at it.

Suddenly, the wall makes a creaking noise and rearranges itself into an archway, opening into a cobblestone pathway. It is almost like a portal to another world – for what lies beyond the archway looks muted and blurred from where Harry is standing.

_“Well done.”_ Tom’s voice revisits Harry. _“Now what are you waiting for?”_

Taking another breath, Harry takes his first step into _Diagon Alley_.

**^H^**

In the foyer of Gringotts, with its marble flooring and towering columns, Harry eagerly reaches forward to scoop a pile of golden, silvery and bronze coins into a velvet pouch from the funnel-shaped money exchanging machine. He lets his fingers touch the strange runic etchings carved directly onto the device; there is a strange energy – magic? – imbued within these carvings. He carefully places his money into his messenger bag, before walking back out into the brisk outdoors.

_“The gold are Galleons; the silver are Sickles and the bronze are Knuts. Seventeen Sickles make up a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts make up a sickle.”_

“Who comes up with these numbers, anyways?” Harry mutters as he pulls his cloak tighter around his person – the wind is blowing stronger now.

_“I am only the messenger.” _Tom’s voice is wry and amused.

“Where to?” Harry asks as he weaves between a few witches and wizards on the street – trying to get used to the sight of people in robes and cloaks – the whole place looks as if Harry had gone back in time – maybe a century or two ago.

_“Well, we don’t have infinite funds – so we will have to be wise…” _Tom thinks.

“I can always go back out and summon some more money – London is loaded.” Harry pats his bag. “I am surprised no one else does this.”

_“Not everyone, my dear Harry, is as resourceful as you. But, no need – we can always come back. I suggest a set of robes, maybe a book or two from Flourish and Blotts for your education and we can decide on the rest as we go.”_

So, Harry first goes to _Madam Malkin’s_ – and buys two sets of robes – black and grey. At Flourish and Blotts, he ends up buying three books: a book on basic spells, one on Transfiguration and one on modern Wizarding history. He gets distracted by a bakery and buys a slice of treacle tart – his absolute most favourite dessert, much to Tom’s amusement. At the Apothecary, Harry examines the ingredients with parts intrigue and a bit of distaste, before running to the Menagerie to pet some kittens – and it is here where he runs into another boy – who is looking at a snake with fascination. A sign next to the display bears the legend – _King Cobra._ The boy is bronze skinned, dark haired and dark-eyed and dressed in simple robes of black.

“Do people even buy snakes like these?” The boy wonders out loud.

“Well…” Harry answers – much to his surprise. “I suppose someone might be interested in deadly venomous snakes.”

;I am not property…; The snake hisses with some indignation. ;I am Zazzar…;

;It is nice to meet you – Zazzar.; Harry hisses back, and the boy’s eyes grow wide. ;And I know you are not.;

_“Damn, Harry – the snakes again! I should have also told you that there is a stigma attached to those who are gifted with Parseltongue! It is perceived as a trait of a Dark Wizard.”_ Tom sounds exasperated but resigned.

“Too late now…” Harry mouths quietly so Tom could hear him, while simultaneously Zazzar exclaims; You can talk to me!; and the boy says in awe, “You can speak to him! Are you the heir of Slytherin?”

;Get me out of here!; The cobra hisses with excitement.

“I am the heir of who?” Harry is confused.

“Ah, never mind.” The boy sighs, “I am Blaise – it is nice to meet you.”

;I am sorry – I already got into enough trouble for freeing one of your brethren.; Harry says apologetically to the snake, who looks incredibly deflated. Besides, the king cobra came with a hefty price tag – and what the hell is he supposed to do with such a dangerous creature in England!

“Evander is mine.” Harry offers a hand, and they shake.

“You are a half-blood – aren’t you? You are wearing muggle clothes, but yet you are here.” Blaise deduces, surprisingly shrewdly.

“My parents were magical.” Harry offers – not liking this half-blood terminology. He knows that much based on what Aunt Petunia had insinuated to him in the past. “But why does it matter…”

Blaise shrugs. “My stepfather is crazy about bloodlines. My mum – not so much.” He then sighs. “But you are right – I don’t think it matters. I don’t even think I matter much to my parents either… But that’s neither here or there. I mean what kind of parents don’t even know that their son pinched some Floo powder out of boredom and snuck all the way here? Even if they find out – they wouldn’t care.”

Harry doesn’t know what to say to that – while the snake is sulking in the far corner of his tank.

“Ah, I am sorry – it just sucks. And I hate my stepfather.” Blaise crosses his arms.

“I want to check out the stationary shop.” Harry changes the topic after a few awkward seconds.

Blaise’s eyes light up. “Oh, let me show you this awesome new ink that they have!”

**^H^ **

After they had finished their shopping in _Diagon Alley_, Harry is now the proud owner of two quills – one eagle and one raven feathered, a bottle of the blue ink that Blaise is crazy for and some parchment. His new friend had even dragged him into _Quality Quidditch Supplies_ to gawk at all the brooms. When Harry mentioned that he had never flown on a broom before – Blaise immediately exclaimed, “You are missing out – Evander! One day I will bring mine and I can teach you!” He had also learned that his new friend roams _Diagon Alley_ constantly on the weekends.

They are now both nursing some _Butterbeer_ and a plate of gingerbread that old Tom – not the Tom in Harry’s head – had provided at the _Leaky Cauldron_ and Harry had started to talk about Muggle things – like pens, video games and other things that seemed to fascinate his new magical friend. Tom enjoys the butterbeer as well – remarking to Harry at one point that it had been years since he had tasted the beverage – leaving Harry skeptical about Tom’s claim about not remembering much about his life before being stuck with Harry.

“These muggle moving pictures seem fascinating.” Blaise reaches for another gingerbread.

“We could go see one – right now!” Harry offers, and Blaise beams before remarking, “I don’t have muggle money…”

“Oh, don’t worry about it – let’s go!”

They split the tab and head out for muggle London – where Blaise is overwhelmed by the cars and everything else. As they walk, Tom instructs Harry about the importance of hiding his magic to everyone around him – even friends – as his wandless abilities are rare and would draw unwanted attention. And Harry agrees – remembering how shocked Blaise was over his abilities to talk to Zazzar. But Tom also adds. _“It’s good to meet some wizards – Harry. I sense that Blaise belongs to an old and exclusive family – this may prove invaluable in ways we aren’t aware yet.”_

They end up at a movie theatre, where Harry buys some soda and popcorn for them both – and they watch _The Land Before Time_ – Harry reasoning that there is no way that they could get away with buying tickets for _Die Hard _(which he knows Dudley had watched). Blaise actually tears up when Littlefoot’s mother dies and Tom makes amusing comments in Harry’s head, leaving Harry to muse that it’s a good thing that only he could hear Tom, or they would’ve been kicked out of the theatre very quickly. 


	6. Chapter 6

Over the next few days, Harry uses his free time to peruse his newly acquired books from _Flourish and Blotts_ in his cupboard. With his history book, he learns about the _First Wizarding War_; the rise and fall of the unscrupulous and power-hungry Lord Voldemort. The world had been a different place then – is what Harry understands from the firsthand accounts of those who had been quoted in the book.

Fear and chaos were everywhere at the height of his powers. No one knew who his supporters were – and even if they weren’t… they could be innocent people cursed to do terrible deeds. You were scared for yourself, your loved ones and your friends. You dreaded looking at the Daily Prophet, a harbinger of deaths, disappearances and tortures – and Merlin forbid, someone you knew was mentioned in the newsprint. No one knew what to do – whether it be the government, the Aurors – his reign of terror went unchecked. Our population – as well as the Muggles were decimated as the years went by.

And he learns about the vanquisher of the self-styled Dark Lord. A little boy – the boy-who-lived – had defeated the scourge of the Wizarding and non-magical worlds. A little boy whose parents had perished in their confrontation with this dark and repulsive wizard – only for the _Killing _curse to backfire and end this reign of terror when the wizard had turned his wand to the infant. The identity of the boy had been _Harry James Potter_.

Himself.

It makes sense though, Harry thinks. His dreams – his nightmares – feature that flash of bright green light. A representation of the fateful night that had taken away both his parents and the menace that had plagued the United Kingdom for so long. He had learned that the green light is the signature – the hallmark – of the _Avada Kedavra _– the _Killing _curse. Aunt Petunia had lied – of course his parents had not died in a car crash. Honestly, what did he really expect from her and his uncle? Rubbish. But the real question that Harry has is – who the hell placed him here?

_“I vaguely remember what happened all those years ago.” _Tom sounds thoughtful. _“I didn’t know you were the reason behind the Dark Lord’s demise. I did know that you shouldn’t go out in public as yourself. Not because of your accomplishment – but because you are the last of the Potter family. The Potters are a powerful lineage of wizards, dating centuries back. And, I have to say – you resemble some of the pictures I’ve seen of the Potters in textbooks from my past days without those magical alterations to your person.”_

“So, you weren’t in my head when my parents were killed. It happened – afterwards?” Harry asks.

_“It appears so.”_ Tom agrees. _“I do remember a person of an enormous stature picking you up at some point – and placing you at the front door of your Aunt and Uncle’s house.”_

“Curious.” Harry muses to himself. “But you don’t remember what happened before you came to exist in my body?”

_“No.”_ Tom sighs. _“I’ve tried teasing it out, Harry – but I’ve given up. I just draw blanks.”_

“Do you think it might have to do with Lord Voldemort’s death?” Harry ponders further.

_“Could be. Or it could have been an event that happened previously – and I didn’t wake up until after Lord Voldemort was gone from this world.”_ Tom adds another possibility.

“I guess it doesn’t really matter.” Harry shrugs. “But what are you exactly? You are a separate conscious being, separate from my being – but you inhabit my body. Would that be defined as… a soul?”

_“I can buy that explanation. But the magic of the soul is not a very well understood science, for obvious reasons. Any other thoughts?”_

“I guess the Wizarding world is still peaceful. None of the terror I could infer from this book was present down at _Diagon Alley_ when we went over the weekend. And – especially if Blaise is allowed to freely wonder the place without anyone worrying…” Harry muses.

_“Ah, but perhaps like you – Harry – young Blaise’s parents genuinely don’t care. He might not be physically neglected – but there is certainly – emotional neglect.”_

“You seem to know a lot about that – emotional neglect.” Harry observes.

“Ah... Harry – I was an orphan too. I know how it is.” Tom sighs deeply before leaving Harry to his innumerable thoughts.

**^H^**

“Fancy meeting you here!” Blaise exclaims happily when Harry walks into a muggle tea shop.

“We did agree to check this place out – last week.” Harry gives his new friend a small smile – happy that there is someone else on this planet that looks excited to see him.

They had seen this tea shop while they had been looking for a movie theatre last week – and Blaise, enticed by the smell of delicious tea-related goods, had expressed a desire to get his mouth around some of the food. Harry had proposed that they meet up here, and alas, here they are.

Blaise waves a server over – with the air of someone who is used to being waited on hand and foot – and orders a decadent sounding afternoon tea set for the two of them to share. And soon, they are feasting on fresh scones with real clotted cream, an assortment of finger sandwiches and miniature cakes and desserts along with a nice blend of Assam that is acceptable to Blaise’s fine palate.

“Where do you put it all?” Harry asks wonderingly as Blaise scarfs down a large amount of food.

“I am a growing boy – Evander.” Blaise grins, and then he sighs. “I like food. It’s a nice way to distract myself when I am bored out of my mind at home. The house-elves – Mina and Fink make the best desserts. They used to give me treats when I would cry.”

“I guess you kind of associate eating with comfort…?” Harry asks.

Blaise nods. “I guess so, Evander. I like going to new places and trying new food – but _Diagon _only has so much, and I don’t dare go to the fancy restaurants by myself. Especially the places that serve alcohol.”

“We are a tad young for that.” Harry says amusedly.

“Just a tad.” Blaise grins good-naturedly. “Oh, but I tried the _Firewhiskey _before. It’s terrible. It burns all the way down your throat, and you feel like throwing up afterwards. Mina gave me such a lecture about the perils of alcohol when she found me with the bottle.”

“It seems like – Mina and Fink – are like your parents…” Harry makes an observation.

“Oh, yes – they are the best.” Blaise says. He then explains. “But at the same time – they serve our family, so they are compelled to obey us – you see.” At the look of horror on Harry’s face, Blaise quickly adds. “They want to serve families – the house-elves. It’s something they enjoy and take pride in. I asked Fink when I was younger why they do what they do – and she said that a house-elf who does not serve grows depressed very quickly – and that our family treats them well. She told me not to worry my ‘precious little head’ over it – so I haven’t.”

“Where shall we go afterwards?” Harry asks after a while.

“Let’s take a walk!” Blaise says happily. “Anywhere! Muggle or magical – I don’t care! Oh, and let me pay – please? I went to Gringotts earlier and exchanged for what they called the British pounds. Just help me make sure I paid correctly.”

**^H^**

“You sure we can do this?” Harry asks Tom as they step foot into _Gringotts_ several days later on a weekday afternoon. “Am I not too young to claim my birthright?”

_“Harry – there are special rules in place for the last heir of pureblooded Wizarding families… You don’t need to be of age – which is seventeen in this world – to claim what you are entitled to. You just need to be of sound mind.”_

At the counter, a stern-faced goblin gazes at Harry, and introduces himself, “My name is Griphook. What may I help you with today?”

“I wish to gain access to my money.” Harry requests.

“Key?”

Harry shakes his head.

“Wand?”

He gives another headshake.

“Ah, that’s okay. We will use blood. Quinn!”

Another goblin approaches the counter, and Harry finds himself being led into a spacious office, decorated with the same marble and luxury as the atrium of the bank. He is directed to sit on a plush leather chair. Quinn, a gray-haired goblin, pulls out a piece of ordinary looking parchment and a silver goblin-wrought blade. He places the items onto the surface of the solid mahogany desk.

“Prick your finger with the blade. One blood drop onto the parchment should be sufficient – Mister…?”

“Potter.” Harry says, after Tom reminds him that the Goblins will know his true identity with the blood magic.

“Curious.” Quinn strokes his neatly trimmed beard, just as Harry nicks a digit with the sharp and sterilized blade.

A red bead of blood clings tightly to his skin, before the force of gravity eventually causes it to fall. As the droplet hits the parchment, a spider web seems to spread from the point of impact – creating from what Harry could see is an extensive family tree. As an orphan, it feels amazing to see lines and more lines connect his name to those who had come before. To see that the deplorable Dursleys are only a small component of his family tree.

“Harry James Potter.” Quinn states with an enigmatic smile. “Welcome to our world.”


	7. Chapter 7

Quinn leads Harry into another office further down in the labyrinthine bowels of _Gringotts_. This new room resembles a warm homely study, rather than the pristine, luxurious and grandiose office that Harry had just been in. The chair that Harry sits in is plush and comfortable, in contrast to the unpadded hard one that he had sat on upstairs; Harry muses that there is a psychology to this – the former indicates that the officeholder wants their visitor to stay – while the latter encourages a quicker turnover of business.

The room is illuminated by long and elegantly tapered candles held by holders carved into the stone wall. An unlit fireplace is located behind the desk. The furniture is well-worn but solid. An eclectic selection of books spill from shelves. A stack of newsprint and files are arranged haphazardly in what could best be described as a mess on the desk. There is character to this room, unlike the sterility of the public areas upstairs. Harry finds himself liking this room – and he has a sense that he will have an affinity with this office’s occupant. His head jerks upward in surprise when he hears the sound of a bookshelf sliding against the wooden flooring. A bald goblin dressed smartly in a crisp white shirt and waistcoat emerges from the hidden entrance. His very blue eyes twinkle delightedly at Harry.

“Ah, young Harry – I was wondering when you would show up. My name is Qwill – and I’ve been managing the _Potter Estate_ for decades. But, first – as dictated by our traditions – a drink?”

Before Harry could say anything, Qwill had walked over to another bookshelf. He pulls out a couple of books – revealing a hidden stash of snacks and drink – and he takes out a bottle and a box bearing writing in a language that Harry does not understand.

“You are underage, so I won’t introduce you to some of the more traditional beverages we goblins drink before business – but here is one that the young folk like these days.” Qwill pulls out two goblets from a drawer, waves his hand over them – rendering them clean – magically – before pouring a beige coloured fluid into both. A plate comes out next, and Qwill carefully arranges a selection of biscuits from the box. He offers a goblet to Harry and places the plate close to the centre of the desk. Qwill sips the liquid first before Harry does – and it has a pleasant sweet coconut flavour mixed with a light flavour of tea and milk. 

After a few minutes dedicated to the consumption of the delicious buttery biscuits and the drink, Qwill finally talks. He explains to Harry about the Potter fortune and the trusts that had been arranged many generations ago. Harry’s jaw drops when he hears about the generous monthly allowance that he is entitled to have. And he frowns when Qwill explains that half of his monthly allowance had been dispensed to somebody else over the last seven years.

The recipient being a wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore.

Apparently, Dumbledore had been named Harry’s guardian after the deaths of his parents – and is therefore entitled to Harry’s finances. And – Harry does not like it one bit. _Where was this man when he had been stuck with the Dursleys – living a miserable childhood?_ Harry then reasons – that it might have been Dumbledore’s decision for him to live with his Aunt and Uncle – keeping him away from his heritage and his chances of having a decent childhood, while having access to the substantial finances and properties of his family.

He mouths the words – so that Tom could hear. “I don’t trust this Dumbledore one bit.”

_“Neither do I.” _Tom agrees. He then suggests to Harry. _“Ask Qwill if there is any way to strip him of his guardianship rights.”_

So, Harry does.

And Qwill is delighted at the question.

“Of course, young Harry. As the last living descendent, being of sound mind, you have the power to change the conditions of your guardianship. However, it is necessary that you have a guardian for legal reasons before you become of age. Traditionally, the manager of the Estate can take over this role for an amount of time until a more suitable individual is found.”

“So, that would be you.” Harry states.

Qwill nods. “Yes. It can be me."

“Any conditions that you would impose if you were my guardian?” Harry asks, out of curiosity.

“Ah, young Harry, it isn’t usually our place – meaning us goblins – to interfere with the Wizardfolk. Other than – of course – to manage the money and the other aspects of our existence where humankind intersect with goblinkind. However, I do think you may be in need of some guidance. I can see that you are a young gifted and intelligent wizard – and I would ask that you seek out individuals that could teach you how to maximize your gifts.”

“That would seem… reasonable.” Harry nods. “I take it you don’t like this Dumbledore character very much…”

Qwill actually laughs and slaps his palm loudly against his desk. “Harry, Harry! Albus Dumbledore is one of the most powerful wizards to have walked the planet. A veritable elephant. He sneezes, and we feel the effects linger for a long time. A man with his own agenda. He thinks he’s so noble – staying out of politics and other positions of power for the most part – but he is a puppeteer. A shadowy influence. Ah… alas your Father and Mother – trusted him. He as you might know is the leader of the _Order of the Phoenix_ – a resistance group against the Dark Lord during the Wizarding War, besides being the Headmaster of Hogwarts and the Supreme Mugwump. You know what all these things mean, yes?”

“I believe so.” Harry had been learning a lot from his detailed history book. He knows that Dumbledore had put an end to a dark wizard by the name of Grindelwald. The Order of the Phoenix was the group that his parents had been a part of – working against the malignant forces of Lord Voldemort. He inquires, “Hogwarts?”

“An old institution for the tutelage of witchcraft and wizardry for wizarding youth, young Harry.” Qwill explains. “A boarding school, where for seven years, you are immersed in the study of Magic. Your name had been put down for a spot since your birth. Typically, one starts at Hogwarts when they have reached the year of their eleventh birthday.”

_“Careful… Harry. If you defy Dumbledore by cutting off his money supply – you would be trapped at Hogwarts with him for seven years…”_ Tom warns. He then switches to a different topic. _“It is hard to read Goblinkind – but I sense that Qwill does not harbour ill intentions towards us. But he is shrewd, intelligent and cunning – maybe even more so than the others of his species. If you choose to switch this guardianship, you must do so with a grain of salt.”_

“Understood.” Harry whispers to Tom. “But I want him to stop taking my money. It’s not because I don’t have the money to spare – but it’s the principle of it!” He then turns to Qwill. “I wish to strip Dumbledore off his guardianship – and to cut off all access to my vaults to everyone who is not me.”

“Ah – young Harry.” Qwill looks almost gleeful. “That can be done.” The goblin pulls out a slip of dark coloured parchment and presents Harry with an enormous dark-feathered quill. “Write – I, Harry James Potter, declare Qwill of the House of Feldspar to be my legal guardian. And after this, write – I hereby declare all keys except for those that belong to me to be null and void. A key, young Harry – is what a person needs to get into your vault – so you must look after it carefully.”

With the red ink that seems to be imbued with some powerful magic, Harry writes what he is told to write, and the parchment disintegrates seconds later when he drops the quill.

_“Well… it seems that we have altered the course of destiny.”_ Tom remarks.

“I hope we don’t regret it.” Harry mutters under his breath.

Qwill beams at Harry and says, “Let me get you your key, and we can discuss the other non-liquid assets that your parents have left behind. It is a pity about the Potter manor though…” The goblin sighs deeply as if pained. “Burnt down years ago in a raid.”

**^H^**

“Wow, you live here now?” Blaise exclaims when Harry lets him into a flat above the hustle and bustle of _Diagon Alley_. “This is amazing!”

“Yes. It used to belong to my parents.” Harry simply explains, as he takes Blaise’s thick cloak and hangs it on an elegantly carved coat stand. “I was able to get the key for it last week. And I spent several days cleaning!”

And cleaning had been exhausting. Harry had used both magic and mundane methods. With Tom’s help, he had managed to get rid of a swarm of doxies that had lived behind the living room curtains with his sanity intact. Fortunately, the place was furnished with tasteful wooden furniture, so Harry didn’t have to go out and go shopping – although theoretically – Harry thinks that it may be fun to pick out these details for his own private space.

But Harry is busy these days – learning as much as he could from books that he had bought from _Flourish and Blotts _and augmenting this newly acquired knowledge with books from the local library and bookstores from muggle London.

“Neat – I brought you some food from Fink – I hope you don’t mind.” Blaise sets down his messenger bag and pulls out a large hamper.

“Oh wow. That bag…” Harry exclaims with surprise. “It has lightening and expansion charms on it, doesn’t it?”

Blaise nods. “Yes, I nicked it from Mother – she would never notice. And the hamper has a long-term stasis charm – so everything in it will stay fresh as long as it is kept in it. Fink cast the magic, so it should last a month.”

Harry is incredibly touched. “Thank you! I’ve been eating out every day, even though I meant to go buy groceries at some point to fill the fridge and cook for myself.”

“What shall we do today?” Blaise asks, as Harry carries the generous present over to the kitchen.

“Oh, I bought a video game console the other day.” Harry admits sheepishly – besides studying and cleaning the flat, he had gone out on a little shopping spree in the muggle world. Especially when he discovered that there is functional electricity in the flat. “I was wondering if you would want to try it out.” He had a few games that he wanted to try – including _Final Fantasy_, _Zelda _and _Super Mario Bros_.

Blaise grins broadly – clearly remembering Harry’s explanation of the various forms of muggle entertainment that exists. “Let’s try it out!”


	8. Chapter 8

Harry examines his scar in the mirror. _Scarhead_. They had called him back at school. It is in the shape of a lightning bolt and based on the history texts and old _Daily Prophets_ that he had been reading, it is a defining feature about him that is well known to the Wizarding public. His hair is long enough to cover the scar now, but Harry wants it gone from his person.

Thinking hard, he imagines ripping off all the fibrous tissue that forms the scar itself. He gasps with some agony when bright red blood starts pouring down his forehead. The fluid drips all over the vanity. Quickly, he visualizes a diagram on healing skin that he had found at the library in a complicated medical text – seeing in his mind the migration and proliferation of skin cells to cover the gap and the filling of the space underneath with connective tissues and blood vessels. The bleeding quickly stops, and Harry uses water to wash the blood off his face and the other stained surfaces. It isn’t perfect, his attempt to remove the scar – there is a bit of lumpiness to the area – but the scar is no longer present on his person.

_“Not bad. Not bad at all.” _Tom’s voice floats into his mind. _“You can always fix it later, when you feel more proficient.”_

“It will do. No one will be able to guess that I was the boy-who-lived.” Harry grimaces at the nickname. “Who even came up with this shit, anyways?”

Tom only chuckles, as Harry walks out of the bathroom.

**^H^**

It is lightly snowing when Harry and Blaise emerge from the _Leaky Cauldron_ after sharing a lunch of fish and chips and a surprisingly tasty arugula salad with candied nuts and fruit pieces.

“Where to?” Blaise asks, as Harry plays with the end of his new green scarf.

“My guardian told me to visit this address in _Knockturn Alley_. Fancy an adventure?” Harry suggests, now smoothing down his new black cloak with his mitten-clad fingers. He had visited Qwill yesterday at Gringotts, and the goblin had given him an address at _Knockturn Alley_ and told him to inquire for a certain person.

“Damn, even I don’t dare go there.” Blaise replies. “I heard it could be a little… dangerous.”

“We will be fine.” Harry smiles lightly, “Let’s go. It’s daylight, anyways.”

As they turn into _Knockturn Alley_, Harry notices how the pristine streets gradually deteriorate and look more rundown and disreputable the further away they got from _Diagon_. Even the wizards and witches wandering the streets somehow look rougher – or perhaps, it is just the atmosphere. In the middle of the alley, Harry finds the address, kicks open the door and walks up a flight of stairs, while Blaise follows.

The second floor contains a quaint little store containing oriental goods: fine porcelain, strange stones, lucky talismans and all sorts of other things that make Harry’s skin crawl.

“Can I help you?” An elderly – possibly Chinese – woman squints at them.

“Um… I am looking for a Sergei Mikhailov…” Harry replies, while scrutinizing a lucky cat statue on the counter that seems to have eyes that appeared to be watching his every move.

There is indeed odd magic here.

“Ah, Mikhail! Micky!” The woman beams. “Yes. He is here. Wait one moment.” She disappears behind some exotic looking sheets fixed to the ceiling.

“This is so strange.” Blaise remarks after a few seconds.

“Yeah, same.” Harry agrees. “It makes my skin crawl. There’s some powerful magic here.”

“I don’t think I would want to touch anything.” Blaise shudders.

“I think that would be the smart thing to do.” Harry nods.

The sheets get flung open, and a grey-haired man emerges, dressed in what Harry would describe as a kimono. His irises are lightly coloured – a blue-grey – and radiate curiosity. A nasty scar mars one pale cheek. “Ah, Mr. Peverell. It is nice to meet you. You are a strange boy – aren’t you? Powerful. Fearless. And you carry a magicless wand. Curious.”

Blaise looks at Harry, and Harry pulls out the wooden stick that he had carved before his first excursion to _Diagon Alley_. The man pulls out a fan decorated with a cherry blossom motif from somewhere, waves it once and a large black feather drifts slowly down onto the counter.

“Show me.” He demands, pointing at the feather.

With some amusement, Harry swishes and flicks his wand and mutters. “_Wingardium Leviosa_!”

Blaise looks awed when the feather sudden floats up. And then Harry makes it dance, before using it to tickle Blaise on the chin before returning it back onto the glass of the counter.

“Fascinating.” The man says dryly. “And who is your companion?” He then asks a moment later.

“Blaise Zabini.” Blaise introduces himself.

“Ah. It’s good to have friends. You may call me Mikhail. I am not the biggest fan of my first name. Alas, I have something that may interest the both of you. Wands.”

“I thought that we are not allowed to have them till we go to Hogwarts…” Blaise wonders.

“Ah, I don’t make Ministry tainted goods – young Blaise.”

“You are a wandmaker!” Blaise exclaims with surprise. “I thought there was only one wandmaker in England…”

“I travel around. To Russia. China. America. Among others. I have what they call wanderlust.” He then shrugs. “It’s why my wife left me.” Mikhail sighs. “But that’s neither here nor there. Follow me.”

Harry and Blaise slip behind the counter and follow Mikhail through the sheets – which themselves seemed to be imbued with some potent magic. There is another set of stairs up, and Mikhail pulls out a key to open one of the doors. They are ushered into a small and cramped flat, where Mikhail directs Blaise and Harry to sit down at a rickety dining table.

“Tea?” Their host asks.

“Of course.” Blaise agrees while Harry nods.

Soon, porcelain teacups bearing a fragrant matcha tea are placed in front of them.

“Brought from Japan.” Mikhail explains. “Perfect for the first snow.”

There is silence as they work on drinking the tea. Harry’s eyes roam around the flat, which contain an eclectic assortment of objects. There is an upright piano that stands on one side, a violin case that sits on top, an aquarium bearing a strange looking fish with long fins, little pots containing strange herbs, a series of porcelain horse statues painted vibrantly in different colours and bookshelves crammed full of foreign tomes amongst other things. There is a fine layer of dust on everything, leading Harry to deduce that Mikhail had only recently returned from a trip abroad. Meanwhile, Blaise drinks the tea with a relish – evidently enjoying the taste, while a sense of excitement seems to vibrate throughout his entire being. Harry can tell that Blaise is eager to get his hands on a wand.

“You two are young.” Mikhail starts speaking once he puts down his cup on a saucer. “Once I give you your wands, you must not use them in public until you both have reached the age of eleven. They will be for your practice and your protection only. Understand?”

Both Blaise and Harry nod.

“Now, for the fun stuff.” Mikhail stands up from the table, disappears into another room before appearing with several long rectangular boxes. “Blaise first. Give this one a wave. Eleven inches, mahogany, with a core of heartstring from a mighty Chinese Fireball.”

Blaise barely lifts up the wand, before Mikhail snatches it away. “No, this won’t do. Here – ten and three-quarters of an inch, maple, with a core of phoenix feather – flexible – a generalist’s wand.”

A thin shower of sparks emerges from the wand. Mikhail frowns for a bit, before saying, “We can do better. Ah. This will do. Ten and a half inches, ebony, heartstring of a Hungarian Horntail – sturdy.”

A jet of blue flames emerges from the tip when Blaise gives it a wave – giving him such a scare that he almost drops the wand.

“Perfect.” Mikhail smiles. “That is your wand. Master Zabini. Ah… young Evander… you are going to be a difficult customer, I think. The innately gifted always are. Try this one. Fourteen inches. Pink Ivory. Blue phoenix feather from a bird named Icy. Whippy. Should be amazing for curses.”

Harry picks up the wand. It feels odd in his hands. He gives it a tentative wave, causing a shower of green sparks to fly out from the end.

“No, no, no.” Mikhail takes the wand back and carefully puts it in its box. “Let me get more wands.”

The man goes back into the room and fetches an armful of wands. Harry tries each one – feeling no affinity for any of them. Mikhail shakes his head in dissatisfaction with every wand waved until he jumps up and exclaims. “I have it!” Without a word, he exits his flat without locking the door.

“Highly eccentric.” Blaise observes. “This man.”

“He’s a powerful wizard.” Harry adds, having sensed his power from the onset. “I don’t think wandmaking is his main practice. It’s a hobby.”

“Yet, I feel like I can trust him.” Blaise says, while stroking the handle of his new wand. “I can’t believe I have a wand!”

“I think you better leave it at my place.” Harry suggests. He isn’t sure how trustworthy Mikhail is. Powerful wizards usually have their own agendas.

Blaise’s face falls, but he then nods. “You are right. I can’t let my parents find out that I have a wand – as unobservant they are. Especially if the wand is an illegal one untracked by the Ministry. I will just come over more often to practice!”

“That sounds great!” Harry exclaims.

“I am in the mood for Chinese if we get out before dinner…” Blaise pats his belly.

“Blaise… we just ate barely half an hour ago…”


	9. The Wand with Two Cores

“Is he coming back?” Blaise looks anxiously at the antique clock that sits on the dusty sideboard. A brass pendulum sways from the device making rhythmic clicking noises. Twenty minutes have gone by since Mikhail had left his abode – Harry estimates.

“We will just have to be patient.” Harry clasps his fingers together with his elbows propped against the table; it is evident that Blaise is not one for sitting long and in an idle fashion. Most people aren’t at their age. “Here, maybe I can teach you a spell while we wait.”

“You will?” Blaise redirects his focus towards Harry. He picks up his wand by the cunningly carved handle. Mikhail makes beautiful wands – Harry realizes – the grains of the brown-black wood are beautifully expressed. He had seen other wands – presumably made by Garrick Ollivander – from roaming around _Diagon_, and they had seemed rather utilitarian by comparison.

“Sure! We could try the Levitation charm, if you want to give that a try.” Harry suggests, picking up his own magicless wand; it looks incredibly crude in comparison to Blaise’s. If he is to hazard a guess, his pseudo-wand is made from English Oak, one of the most common trees found in Little Whinging.

“Anything!” Blaise exclaims. He then scrunches his face in concentration. “But wait – your wand…”

“Is fake.” Harry’s smile is a smirk. “Mikhail knew at first glance. But don’t tell anyone – okay?”

“Fake…” Blaise is amazed. “Merlin…! So… you can do magic… controlled magic without a wand? So… why do you need one? A wand, that is?”

“A wand… makes things easier. And I use the fake wand, because – no one needs to know the extent of what I can do, Blaise.” Harry explains seriously.

“I understand.” Blaise sounds solemn now. “Not many people can do wandless magic – and even if they can, it’s very… weak. I’ve seen my Mother do it when she’s too lazy to fetch her wand from wherever she left it last. But… do you know how to do magic with a wand?”

“I studied it.” Harry allows a small smile to grace his lips. “The wand movements, the incantations and the intent behind the magic. Well… at least the ones from that _Beginner’s Book of Spells and Charms_ that I bought downstairs from _Flourish and Blotts_ a few weeks ago. I’ve never cast magic with a wand. But, let’s try – anyways!”

“I guess we can use the feather.” Blaise pulls out the large black feather that Mikhail had conjured from nothing earlier from the pocket of his robes.

“You took it!” Harry is surprised.

“I like it! It’s like from a big raven, or something. I was going to cut the tip to make a nib, so I could use it as a quill. And the feather itself is rather soft.” Blaise explains while stroking through the barbs. “Waste not, want not – that’s what Mina always says.”

“So, the Levitation charm… you know what it does, right?” Harry starts with the basics.

“It levitates things.” Blaise grins. “But not people.”

“Ah, the one flaw. No one quite knows why this charm doesn’t quite work on people. Some powerful wizards and witches have tried and were able to get a metre or two off the ground. But they weren’t able to move around very easily.” Harry muses.

“Which is why we have brooms.” Blaise says knowingly.

“Exactly.” Harry nods in agreement. But – maybe – he could figure out a solution to such an intriguing problem through his magical gifts. He makes a mental note to try. “But – anyways… there are many variables for this charm. The duration, the position, the weight and centre of gravity of the object you are levitating – and when you get proficient – there is the movement of the object itself. But we can talk about that later.”

“Hm… the centre of gravity…” Blaise carefully takes the large feather and tries to balance it on his index finger. The feather falls off a few times before Blaise is finally able to balance it. “It’s also incredibly light – so I presume it will be easier to levitate compared to something heavier.”

“It’s essentially a swish and a flick – like so.” Harry demonstrates the movement with his fake wand. “It’s all in the wrist, really.”

Blaise practices the motion several times, while Harry corrects him. Just as he is about to explain the proper pronunciation of _Wingardium Leviosa_ – the flat door opens – revealing Mikhail. The wandmaker looks like he had just ran a marathon. Panting, he makes his way to the dining table. A solitary matte-black box is tucked in the crook of his arm. He collapses into a chair.

“Sorry about the wait, Evander and Blaise. I realized halfway down the stairs that the wand that I had in mind was stored in my workshop which is not in _Diagon,_ so I had to travel a little bit further than anticipated. But – I think this is it.” Mikhail puts down the box and reverently pulls out the wand enclosed within. “Metasequoia – or dawn redwood – grows in a very specific part of China. My good friend, and fellow wandmaker – Lingfei and I were lucky to be nearby when one of these endangered trees toppled over many years ago in the great forests – and we were able to harvest some of this extraordinary wood for wandmaking before the authorities showed up to secure the treasure. This wand is eleven and three-quarters of an inch long and contains the heartstring of a dragon turtle – a fabled creature that people have not seen in decades – but this string was acquired from an adventurer who stumbled upon a deceased and beached individual somewhere along the shores of Argentina almost a century ago and placed it under stasis. When I inserted this heartstring into this wand – there was something missing… Sometimes… when one makes wands – there are instincts involved. And sometimes – certain cores… by this I am referring to unicorn hairs, dragon heartstrings and feathers – need a companion. And it took me some time to find such a companion for this string. I was crashing over at Garrick’s place – ah young’uns, you would know him as Ollivander – and he was telling me about this phoenix who gave two feathers instead of one. A very curious tale for another time – but anyways – Garrick had just used one of them to make what he felt was the most powerful wand he had ever made – thirteen-and-a-half inches long and made of yew, I believe that is what the characteristics were. And then I told him about this wand that I was stuck making, and he generously donated the second feather for me to try. And it worked. Harmoniously. The result is a very powerful wand. But – it will be very difficult to tame, young Evander. A true challenge. But, one that I am sure you are up to taking, I presume?”

“I… guess so.” Harry says, cautiously. He can almost feel the power emanating from the reddish wand in Mikhail’s hand. The wood – instead of being smooth like Blaise’s – has a twisted contour with a roughened texture to it. He reaches out – allowing the wandmaker to place the handle – the only smooth part of the wand – into his fingers. He shudders when the wood makes contact with his flesh; it is as if the magicks between himself and the wand are vibrating at the same natural frequency – resulting in resonance. It is an overwhelming and surprisingly pleasurable experience.

“Fascinating.” Mikhail seems to say under his breath. “I’ve never seen anyone meet their wand like this. I wonder who Garrick gave its brother to. They must also have been a most fascinating wizard…”

**^H^**

“It is curious, is it not?” Harry muses out loud later at night, when Blaise had gone home after a delicious dinner at a certain restaurant that specialized in Cantonese comfort food. After a dinner of chow mien, salted and spicy pork chops and stir-fried egg and shrimp, Harry himself had prepared for the night and is now sitting on the neatly made queen-sized bed in the master bedroom, wrapped in a maple-patterned quilt that he had found in one of the closets.

_“What is curious?” _Tom asks.

“That the wand which chose me – has two cores – is that not at least, intriguing?” Harry is examining his wand under the illumination of the lamp on his nightstand, admiring the red hues that the light brings out. “Perhaps… one for you and one for me.”

_“Ah…”_

“What was your wand’s characteristics, Tom?”

_“Ah, young Harry – I believe it had a core of phoenix feather. But – oddly – I don’t recall the other attributes. Which is strange – because I can see myself on that joyous day at Garrick Ollivander’s store all those years ago trying out all the different wands most clearly. And the man saying ‘curious, most curious’ when I finally found my wand.” _

“Do you think I should try it out?”

_“I am surprised you already haven’t. After all, you showed Blaise how to do the Levitation charm before he left.”_ Tom says with fond amusement perfusing his words.

“He hasn’t gotten it down yet. The feather doesn’t move at all for him.” Harry says.

_“Ah, but your friend will struggle with what we find innately easy – Harry – it’s just the way things are. But I am sure he will get it. Blaise, I think, is trying to force the magic out of himself – and that’s just not an easy way to get magic to do your bidding. One has to allow it to do its thing.”_

Harry switches off the lamp and holds his new wand up. The wand feels like an extension of himself; a vital part like his arm or leg. There is some trepidation though; Harry is so used to performing magic without a wand that having a real one in his hand – no matter how right it feels – is a strange sensation.

_“What are you waiting for?”_ Tom’s voice is half amused and half impatient.

“I just feel… nervous. Stage fright.” Harry admits. “I didn’t want to try in front of Blaise without knowing what would happen. Mikhail didn’t even ask me to wave it. He just knew it was the wand for me.”

_“You knew too. And I think Blaise did as well when he met his wand. His face when the flames shot out was easily one of the funniest things I’ve seen in a long time.”_

“Well, I guess I should stop dawdling.” Harry sighs while stifling a yawn. It had been an exciting day. “_Lumos!_” He incants and is almost blinded by the intensity of the white light that glows from the tip of his wand. Quickly, he says, “_Nox!_” and the light immediately extinguishes. “I see what Mikhail means by taming this wand. That was bright!”

_“Good thing you didn’t cast Incendio.” _Tom chuckles.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” Harry says dryly. “I don’t think there would be anything left of this flat if I did. Now, I am going to sleep. Night!”


	10. Where they meet Hannah

“So, you have a wand. And you’ve been practicing your magic with Mikael. I am thinking that we should further your education in other areas…” Qwill strokes his chin thoughtfully.

“In what way?” Harry asks – curious. They are sitting in Qwill’s very comfortable office during their weekly meeting. Certainly, there are other subjects important for a young wizard – Potions for instance. Or maybe even flying. He and Blaise have plans tomorrow involving a Wizarding park and a broomstick – a Cleansweep that Blaise had gotten as a birthday present.

“Some traditional pureblood arts – I am thinking. Your friend, Young Blaise, may wish to participate. There are three main ones in vogue these days: painting, music and dancing. Horseback riding, calligraphy and swordplay were the other three – but that’s not so popular now. I suggest you pick one and work on it. And I can find an instructor for you for whatever discipline you wish to focus on.” Qwill offers.

“It doesn’t seem that useful…” Harry thinks. “I mean – even learning a new language seems more helpful in the long run…”

_“Ah… Harry – but that’s not the point. The traditions on their own aren’t useful like magic is – but being immersed in the traditions of ancient nobility will help you navigate through society.” _Tom’s voice floats into his mind.

Qwill grins. “As I once thought when I was a youngling. My own mother made me learn how to weave on a loom. A traditional Goblin art. Each House –“ At Harry’s look of confusion, he takes a step back and quickly explains. “Ah, humankind uses paternal surnames to differentiate between families. We, goblinkind, belong to Houses. Typically named after some sort of geological phenomena. The House we belong to is dependent on our maternal line. But, regardless – each House has its own trademark pattern and characteristic designs in the textiles they produce – reflective of the history. By the gods – it was not my favourite thing to do. I hated it. I would’ve rather spent my time outside playing football with my friends or even doing arithmetic for my classwork… but alas – I learned a lot about our history through my weaving lessons. Its helped immensely with my dealings with my fellow goblins, for I understand where they come from. And nothing causes a goblin to lower their guard more than showing that you truly _know _and _understand _them.”

“Hm… maybe I can give it a try. What do you think is the most helpful skill to learn?”

“Ah… I would say dance – young Harry. You will always almost need it in every important social function run by Wizardkind and even among the muggles…”

“Then I shall try to learn, Qwill.”

“That’s the spirit. I will send word of the details.” Qwill smiles. “And of course – I don’t want you cooped up all day studying. You need to stay active.”

“We are going flying tomorrow. Blaise will teach me how.”

“Your Father was the most brilliant of flyers. Seldom have I seen someone who turned it into an art. It is a true pleasure in life to watch him fly. A fine Chaser he made. Almost went professional… but the Dark One came calling.” There is almost a wistful look to Qwill’s eyes. “Enjoy your first flight, young Harry.” The goblin stands up from his seat, as does Harry. With a nod, Qwill walks out – to deal with his next appointment.

**^H^**

“It seems that Qwill knows my father well.” Harry muses quietly to Tom as they walk the streets of _Diagon_.

It is a cold day. As it is getting closer to the holidays, the main street through the Alley is strewn with the appropriate décor. There is a fair number of cloaked wizards and witches strolling through the streets, stopping once in a while to contemplate the festive window displays. The wind howls while gentle flurries drift from the clouds above. Harry pulls his cloak tighter around him.

_“It appears so. Perhaps you should learn how to cast a Temperature-Regulation charm on your robes, Harry. It will keep you at a comfortable temperature all year round.”_

“Perhaps. Maybe I just like to freeze.” Harry sighs, remembering the days he had spent shivering in his cupboard as he didn’t have enough blankets during the coldest nights of winter back in Privet Drive. “I should ask him for stories… some time. We always end up talking about my studies.”

_“There should be time for that. And you should try and learn about the goblins. It’s rare that a wizard can get an opportunity to learn from them.”_

“You want me to take over the world, don’t you?” Harry quips as he stops in front of a bakery, his sweet tooth craving treacle tart. And, perhaps he would buy Blaise an assortment of sweets along with a bowlful of that creamy tomato soup that the proprietor of the shop makes.

_“Ha. A worthy goal if you desire so, little Harry. But let’s watch and learn for now. Hm… perhaps you should get some of that carrot cake.”_

“Ah, you like that – don’t you, Tom? And here I thought you didn’t have a sweet tooth at all.” Harry grins as he pushes the door to enter, causing a jingle to announce his entry. The owner, a Mr. Talbot, smiles warmly at Harry.

_“It’s all your fault.”_ Tom almost hisses.

“Oh, is it? I think it’s Blaise’s for introducing me to this shop.” Harry mutters under his breath.

“Ah, Mr. Evander! The treacle tart, I presume?”

“Yes, and an assortment of baked goods for Blaise and a tub of your fine soup, sir.”

“It shall be done, young sir.” Mr. Talbot efficiently grabs what Harry had requested, while his assistant rings Harry up.

Soon, Harry is back out the door with his goods in hand.

“It doesn’t seem you ate much back in your old life.” Harry resumes the conversation.

_“Ah… I had more important things to do.”_

“Like what, taking over the world?”

_“I don’t remember to be honest. Maybe. Perhaps? Ooh… that little girl seems lost – doesn’t she?”_

Harry looks around and sees a young girl – perhaps around his own age – standing outside of Flourish and Blotts rather close to the entrance to Harry’s building. Her brown eyes are scanning the street, as if looking for someone. She is dressed in a dark brown cloak with her hood up, concealing the majority of her dirty-blonde hair.

“Looking for someone?” Harry asks when he gets closer.

“Um… Mum said I shouldn’t talk to strangers…”

“Perhaps… but you look lost…” Harry adds kindly.

“Yeah… My dad… I looked away for a second – there’s a really nice drawing quill on display at Flourish and Blotts – and then he was no where to be found! And then… he’s a bit absent-minded at times… so it might be awhile before he notices.”

“My place actually has a good view of the street. Would you like to come in? It’s rather cold today…”

At the girl’s worried look, Harry adds. “I am probably no older than you… uh…”

“Hannah.” The girl grins. “Hannah Abbott. And… you do look harmless…”

“Oh, do I?” Harry smirks. “It’s us that you have to worry about. The ones who look harmless. The name’s Evander, by the way.”

“Ah…” She shivers violently when another wind gust blows through the street. “I think I would like to come in with you, Evander. It’s so bloody cold!”

Harry opens the building door by tapping a specific combination of bricks with his fingers. He walks up several flights of stairs before finally reaching his own flat. Taking his key from the folds of his cloak, he opens the door. Most of the time, he would wandlessly do so, but not today, not in front of strangers.

“Ah, Blaise!” Harry exclaims at his friend who is sitting at the dining table with a bored expression on his face.

“What took you so long? I am getting hungry!”

“When are you ever not hungry?”

“Good question.” Blaise gives his best impression of an old wise man. “And, who is your friend?”

“This is Hannah. She’s misplaced her father. She’s rather frozen, so I thought I would invite her in. I think should give her your soup… what do you think?”

“Whatever you want, Evander. But let’s share the other goodies, at least!”

They break out the food, while Hannah sits on the loveseat next to the window, her anxious eyes looking for someone resembling her dad.

“Here, Hannah – soup.” Blaise had split the contents of the takeaway tub into three of Harry’s bowls. “And a spoon. Drink up, it’s the best tomato soup you will ever have.”

“Thanks!” She takes a sip. “Oh wow. That’s amazing.”

And, much to Harry’s amazement, Blaise breaks off half of his favourite chocolate pastry and offers it to Hannah, who takes it happily. He is rewarded with a “you have good taste, Blaise.”.

“Ah, so what brought you to _Diagon_?” Blaise asks, curious.

“Dad had errands. I wanted to see the latest Cleansweep. So, he brought me. I also needed a new sketchbook, and some colours. I like to draw and paint.”

“You follow Quidditch!”

“Yes!”

“United is my team – for football as well.” Blaise offers.

“Falcons for me. Dad was a reserve Keeper at some point for them before he decided to design brooms for a living instead. Merlin – I love to fly.” Hannah smiles rather dreamily.

The two of them launch into some detailed discussion about League happenings which went totally beyond Harry’s brain, so he sits at the dining table alone – nibbling at his treacle tart.

“We need to convince Evander to pick a team. He hasn’t ever flown – you see.”

“He hasn’t? What a shame!”

“I will turn him into a Quidditch fiend if it’s the last thing I do. We are going tomorrow to Elias’ Grove – I love that place. It’s a great place to fly.”

“I totally agree. Maybe I can talk dad into taking me. I think he’s off tomorrow. Sometimes he would _apparate _me there with my broom and he will go do his own stuff elsewhere.”

“So, you said Chaser is your dream position?”

“Yeah!” Hannah is about to elaborate before she finally sees her father heading back to Flourish and Blotts. “Oh, there’s my dad! I better go. Thanks for everything!” She jumps off the loveseat and grabs her cloak from the old clawed-foot coat stand after dropping off her bowl and cutlery next to Harry’s food.

“I will come with you.” Harry and Blaise both say at the same time, and they both grin at each other before breaking out into laughter.


End file.
